“I am tired of writing this story. The one in which you never stop leaving. The one in which I never stop waiting. I am tired of writing this story. The one in which you don’t love me at all. The one in which I love you more than I love myself. I am tired of writing this story. The one in which you never stop hurting me. The one in which I never stop looking back. This story is getting old now. Everybody’s tired. I am tired. By the time I am done with this sorry attempt at a poem, there won’t be any applause. Everybody’s heard this story a million times before. Even strangers shiver at the mention of your name without knowing why. I don’t just shiver. My knees stop working. My feet don’t move. I realize I am right where you left me. I am telling this story from the only place you know from the inside out. I am telling this story for the millionth time and in my own ways, I am crazy. I’m tired of telling this story. The ending isn’t ever any different. I am at the end of this sorry attempt at a poem and nobody is clapping. There isn’t anything beautiful about hanging on to what you have to let go of.”
“Last night I got to love you like there’d never be anyone else.
This morning I woke up to the sound of you leaving.
You were packing your things and you were telling me you were sorry.
I watched you in silence and I didn’t ask you to stay.
When you were ready I walked you to the door and I closed all the windows.
I removed the ‘welcome’ doormat and I changed the locks because I know you’re going to come back.
You’re going to come back and you’re going to chose to love me then but by then, it’s going to be too late.
You can’t chose to not love me now and love me later because you’re scared or because you’re alone or because everything is caving in on you.
What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you but I know better now.
You’re never going to love me like I deserve and I shouldn’t have to keep waiting for you to get it right.”